The Fourth War
by Disastrous Consequences
Summary: The Courier for the Mojave Express is drawn into a plot bigger than himself by a land-hungry Duke with a hidden puppet master. After the battle at Hoover Dam, how much more damage can the Courier take?
1. Chapter 1: The Courier and the Duke

"Preparations for docking are complete, milord," a servant in a white button-up and black pants said, humbly bowing before a silver-haired man on a golden throne. "Would you like me tell the captain to dock for the gala?"

"No, Tranio," the man on the throne said, looking out a glorious stained-glass window that depicted a great battle between man and beast from centuries before the war. "We must stay cloaked until we can put out the transmission to the Courier. Now, I wish to ask you of the progress of our land-bound friend at the Hoover Dam."

"The Courier has completed his task at the Hoover Dam and he should currently be reporting back to the Lucky 38 for a conference and debriefing with the Yes Man," Tranio said. "Your Highness, may I inquire as to why this Courier?"

The seated man gazed out the window some more and shook his head. "The Courier and I have a forgotten history that I must act on. That is all I shall tell you, Tranio. We shall send out our transmission immediately."

Meanwhile in the Lucky 38 on the New Vegas Strip, the Courier of the Mojave Express was in the Penthouse in front of a large monitor, listening to the Yes Man go on in his normal way. "The battle at the Dam was magnificent, buddy! I can't wait to see what the future has in sto—well, what is this? An interfering frequency is being sent through my transmission! Oh well, looks like someone really wants to talk to you! I'll be back soon!"

The Yes Man's screen went black, but suddenly the screen jumped to life again, showing a picture of a man with silver hair. "Hello, people of the Mojave Wasteland. I am Duke Orlins, one of the Seven Dukes of the Interior, and I would like to invite the people of the Mojave aboard my floating castle for a month-long gala celebration for the fall of the Legion and the creation of an independent New Vegas. I would like to especially invite the Courier who made this celebration possible on board as a V.I.P. The gala will take place in two days time, and the people of the Mojave may board at the camp of the fallen Legion."

The screen once again fluttered into blackness for a moment while the Yes Man powered back to life. His perpetually smiling face seemed welcoming after the strange transmission. "Well, Courier, it looks like you're a big celebrity now! I've been rooting for you from the beginning, and if one of the Seven Dukes of the Interior is going to praise you, you should go! There is one thing you should know about the Seven Dukes though. They happen to be very bloodthirsty when it comes to their conquest of land! Remind you of anyone, Courier?"

The gala would start in less than two days time, yet Duke Orlins was still as restless as he had been while planning this great escapade. From planting the ideas in Benny's head for the overthrowing of Mr. House to making sure that Mr. House trusted the Courier enough to let him close, Orlins had been there every step of the way, pulling the strings from behind the velvet curtain to make sure the Courier got what the Duke wanted him to get and saw what the Courier wanted him to see. It was a pain to orchestrate humans to act the way that the Duke wanted them to, but it was necessary.

Another man entered the throne room at this time, nodding to the Duke. It was the Duke's half-brother, Sir Roland Fitzroy. Roland was the bastard son of the previous Duke and as such, held an amount of glory unparalleled by anyone except the other Dukes and their knights. Roland acted as captain and pilot of the ship while it was in flight, and an advisor and consult to the Duke.

"Brother, how have you been these past few days?" Roland asked, staring at his silver-haired brother. Roland had shockingly blue eyes that he had received from his mother, —a trait that made people open more easily to him than Duke Orlin's cold black eyes.

"The last few days have been indeed tiring, Roland, yet our plan has almost come to fruition. Soon, you and I shall be kings of the entire Old Country," Duke Orlins said to his brother. "We must first, however, gain the powers of the Courier. You shall greet the Courier before we dock permanently as an ambassador to the Wasteland. The other six ungrateful dukes shall fall by our hands, Roland, and we may bring true civilization to this once-great land."

"A truly noble dream, my brother. I shall depart at once for the Strip," Sir Roland said with a nod and a smirk. "Hopefully, I don't have to kill many people to meet the Courier."

"Behave yourself, brother. Foster good relationships with the people you meet and use your disturbing powers of speech to gain entrance to their hearts," Duke Orlins said with a cheer.


	2. Chapter 2: The Gala's Opening

Sir Roland Fitzroy, half-brother to the eccentric Duke Orlins, had trekked from the location of the docked floating castle at the fallen Legion camp to the entrance to the Strip. Entering the stirp, Roland spotted the Lucky 38 and went to the front door. A Securitron rolled over to him and asked what business had at the Lucky 38, and Rolan explained he was an ambassador for Duke Orlins.

"You check out with the security profiling. The Courier is in the Penthouse suite currently. I will escort you up," the Securitron said, rolling into the Lucky 38 with Roland walking lightly at its back.

When they had reached the Penthouse Suite, the Courier was surprised to see such a well-dressed man standing at the top of the staircase.

"Who are you?" the Courier asked, looking into the man's blue eyes. He was dressed in a suit of Power Armor with a Phoenician purple cape over his shoulders very eclectically. "And what business do you have here?"

"I am Sir Roland Fitzroy, ambassador and half-brother to Duke Orlins," said Roland proudly. "I have come to escort the Courier of the Mojave to my brother's castle for the gala tonight. And you—you are the Courier who I am to fetch. I know of you very well, my friend. According to the rumors, I am not worthy to even touch your shoes, though my knighthood has a prestige of its own."

"You're the Duke's brother?" the Courier asked, looking the man over. He did seem to have a royal quality about himself, so the Courier believed him. "Okay, well, let's get going to this gala before all the good drinks are taken."

"Very charismatic," Roland murmured as he led the Courier out of the Lucky 38.

In the now-grounded floating castle of the eccentric Duke Orlins, servants rushed in preparation for that night's festivities. The Duke was in his chambers with a lovely maiden from his own lands, Lady Annabeth, who was busy readying herself to dress herself in a glorious ball gown. "Darling, how long until the Courier arrives? I would like to meet the man who drove away those nasty cretins from our lands in the East to at least thank him."

"He shall be arriving shortly with Roland Fitzroy, dear Maria," the Duke said, buttoning a blue tunic with golden buttons over a white shirt and putting on a Phoenician purple cape with a symbol of his clan on the back, a large dragon with two heads.

"Why do you place such importance on Roland, Alfons? He is a product of one of your father's affairs," Maria said, as a servant tied her corset tightly around her chest. "In my opinion, the royal family should only include those of pure noble descent and no one else."

"Well, Maria, he is my family one way or another and he is a trusted advisor," the Duke retorted, feeling insulted by his lover's comment against his brother and best friend. "My father was an honorable man, and his children inherited that honor, whether legitimate or not, and Roland is no exception to that. He should be treated with the utmost respect by everyone on this ship as part of my court as well as the next-in-line for the throne."

"I am sorry, my lord," Maria said, closing her eyes for a moment.

"Ah, Maria, there is no need to be sorry! This shall be a marvelous night of feasting and dancing! You shall be the jewel in my crown tonight at the opening of the gala, and the envy in each man's eye will be focused upon you," the Duke said kindly, rubbing his lover's cheek gently.

The Courier marveled at the large castle floating twenty feet above the ground with a marvelous entry stairway leading into the bottom of what seemed to be a large flying saucer. "After you, Courier," Roland said, waving the Courier aboard the large airship. The Courier walked up the stairs into the entrance hall of the large castle, where a chorus of trumpets marked the arrival of the Duke.

A man in a blue tunic with a purple cape appeared at the top of the stairs with a beautiful woman on his arm and walked down the stairs to greet the Courier in the hall. "Hello, my friend! I am Duke Alfons Orlins, one of the Seven Dukes of the Interior, and I cordially accept you into my home, hero of the Wasteland."

"I am glad to be here, Your Highness," the Courier nodded, shaking the Duke's hand. "Who may I ask is this?"

"This is my future wife, Lady Maria," the Duke said, Maria smiling at the Courier happily. "We will serve as your hosts and humble servants for the rest of this. However, I must ask you for a favor when you depart from our ship. We've had some turmoil in our Lands after the fall of the Legion, yet you have had some experience in dealing with Legion, so I thought you would be the one to ask."

"What kind of turmoil?" the Courier asked.

"The ex-members of the Legion are rallying around a new leader named Octavius, who has promised them freedom from the 'tyranny' we provide our people," Alfons said, sighing to the wind. "Our people have started to follow Octavius and we need your expertise in eliminating this threat as well as a few others. You should be a crucial knight in my brother's order after solving our problems."

"Thank you for this honor, Your Majesty," the Courier said, nodding. The four-person group climbed the staircase to take their seats at the ballroom's high table before the rest of the guests could arrive, but Sir Roland Fitzroy seemed to hang toward the back of the group, talking to various other knights.


	3. Chapter 3: Landing

The gala had started without a hitch thanks to the quick arrival of the Courier at the floating castle of Duke Alfons Orlins due to the studious work of Sir Roland Fitzroy, half-brother to the Duke and his Head Knight. The Courier was treated like royalty while the gala continued, the feasting and partying never stopping, even into the early hours of the morning. Ghouls and humans alike mingled among the crowds of the well-dressed from the Strips and the beggars from the outskirts. Brotherhood of Steel agreed to provide security alongside Sir Roland's knights and everyone seemed to be content with the watchful eye over them.

"Well, Courier," said Alfons one morning, observing the Courier sitting next to him, "You seem to be enjoying yourself. Hopefully you have not forgotten that you have mission to do when I drop you at your final destination. I will have messengers keep track of your progress."

Alfons had proven to be very hospitable to everyone, even if some of the guests weren't. One unfortunate fellow had tried to pick a fight with a Ghoul who had supposedly stolen his dance partner was gunned down by the Brotherhood before the man could blink, so not many others after him had tried to be violent or steal from the castle. Watching from an upper balcony, Roland always seemed to be wherever the Courier was, and he had a hungry look in his eyes whenever he saw the Courier talking to the Duke.

"I have not forgotten, Your Highness," the Courier said. "When will be reaching this 'final destination?'"

"We will reach the drop-off zone in approximately three days, judging by the wind speeds and piloting skills of my crew," Alfons said matter-of-factly, as if the Courier would never be able to wait to reach the landing pad. "The Interior Wasteland is a wide expanse of smaller civilizations that survive under the protection of seven different duchies, some of the most notable smaller civilizations being the borough of Rapid City in the Northern Territory and Drybed in my own territory."

"So I'm to take out the Legion in your territory and report back to you, correct?" the Courier asked, repeating his mission. "That's all?"

"Yes, that is all. However, the people in my duchy will not be able to trust you if you look so—what is the word I'm looking for?— so _western_," the Duke said rather harshly, looking the Courier over. "You see, I pride myself in knowing my people are a little more civilized than those of New Vegas, no offense to you of course. The people in my territory are rather intelligent and well-structured and you look rather _barbaric_ to them, once again, no offense intended. Have Sir Roland set you up with a suit of Royal Armor before you depart from my castle, okay? While my people aren't barbaric, they don't take too kindly to outsiders, but if you bear my crest, they will not dare shoot you or risk my forces."

"Thank you, sir!" the Courier said, looking around. "I'm going to retire to my chambers for the night. Is there anything else I should know before my departure?"

"Yes." Alfons said, "Of all the cities in my duchy, Drybed might be the largest and friendliest, but the city of Eden to the northeast will prove to be the most useful in establishing connections in the region. You see, the people of Eden have the most well-structured society I have ever seen in the Wasteland, and as such have connections with many of the tribes and cities in the area. If you wish to foster relations with any of the people of the land, you should most definitely talk to the Council of Elders at Eden."

The next three days flew by for the Courier as he prepared for his journey into the new territories of the Interior. Sir Roland helped the Courier every step of the way, teaching the Courier the difference between culture in the Interior Wasteland and the Mojave Wasteland, which proved to be difficult for the Courier considering he had been scavenging for food and water for the past few months. He eventually got a grip on the etiquette of the Interior and learned all about the different types of weapons and peoples in the Interior, from the division of the Brotherhood of Steel to a group of immigrants who had fled from the Capitol Wasteland with many stories of the atrocities in the East.

"Goodbye, Courier," said Sir Roland, when the ship had finally docked and the Courier was shuffled out into the warm dry air of his new home. According to his Pip-Boy (updated by a group of Knight for the Brotherhood of Steel) he was just about one mile outside of the city of Drybed, which apparently had at one point been a lake. "I'll have my eyes on you."

The Courier began his travels toward Drybed, a sprawling city that took up most of the dried-out lakebed. Cool breezes blew across the Courier's neck, which was a nice surprise after the unbearable heat of the Mojave Desert. He continued his trek until he reached the front gates of the large settlement of Drybed.

"Halt! Who goes there?" a voice said from atop a sentinel tower.

"The Courier of the Mojave Express and assistant to Duke Alfons Orlins," the Courier shouted up in response, hoping the gates would open.

"So you were the one that the Duke's castle dropped off, huh?" the sentinel said, looking down at the Courier. "You don't seem like much, but if came from the Mojave, you've got to be crazy enough for the Duke to send you. We'll open up the gates, but just know that we'll have our eyes on you."

_What was it with people in this godforsaken Wasteland and keepin__g their eyes on me?_ the Courier thought as he watched the large gates open and a sentinel walk from his guard position. "I am Chief of Security here in Drybed. The name's Hamilton."

"Nice to meet you, Hamilton," the Courier said. "I'm here to see whoever's in charge on orders of the Duke. I'm supposed to foster good relations with his people."

"If the Duke sent you, I guess I have no choice to show you in," Hamilton said. "Good luck getting the Council to listen to you."


	4. Chapter 4: The Council of Elders

The city of Drybed was astonishing and rivaled the fabulous Strip back home, yet everywhere the Courier looked, people pointed at him and whispered, as if he were some sort of anomaly among the people. He did notice they weren't as battle-worn as he was, but he doubted that many people in the Interior were, considering how peaceful the area had been for a long time due to the seven Dukes' proper diplomacy. The Courier listened quietly to the sounds of the people.

"Come one, come all! The food selection at The Hot Stop is unrivaled anywhere in the city!"

"You there, young man! You look like you could use some purified water!"

"Excuse me," said a voice from behind the Courier, so the Courier turned around to face a man dressed in full Power Armor with the seal of the Knights on the chest. "You are the Courier of whom I was informed, I presume? I suspect you are wondering who I am. I am Sir Arthur, Lieutenant in His Majesty's Royal Corps, and I have been told to join you in your journeys."

"Excellent," the Courier said to Arthur, "I presume you come with arms included?"

"Yes," said Sir Arthur, "All Knights in the Royal Corps are issued a plasma rifle and a laser pistol along with any weapon they can scavenge of those troublemakers we so willingly put down. I, however, think that is a barbaric practice best left back east. You see, only the best of Sir Roland's Knights may join the Royal Corps, but so often does the Duke choose such trigger-happy buffoons. It's a disgrace to be put in the same group as them."

"Oh, you'd hate to see what I did back in the Mojave then," the Courier said, laughing to himself. "I had an entire army of armed robots slaughter Caesar's Legion and then took the Hoover Dam for myself."

"Aye, but Caesar's Legion is my one true exception. Now, you must be seeing the Council of Elders, I presume. They dwell inside the building on the top of the hill there, The Forum," Sir Arthur said, pointing to a rather large building upon a tall hill. "The Elders vote on propositions made by the younger groups of individuals within the town, and once an idea gains a majority within the Council, it is put into law. Rather like the Congress in the Old Country, except less corrupt."

The Courier started to walk towards the Forum, thinking of what he would say to the Elders of Drybed. He never had to deal with a body of elected officials on this scale before, so he was completely clueless. _Let's wing it_, the Courier thought to himself, _It's worked before._

Upon arriving at the Forum, the Courier was once again stopped by the security of Drybed and asked a few mundane, typical security guard questions, but when the guard saw Arthur, he immediately stopped. "Go right ahead, sirs," the security guard said, saluting to the both of them and opening the large oak doors.

The Forum was brilliantly painted with frescoes and sculptures lining the walls artistically until the hallway opened to one large, circular room where men and women sat quietly, listening to the man in the center talk about some kind of healthcare idea from a borough in the Southern Marketing District. "All in favor, raise your right hand," said the man, as a younger man next to him tallied up the raised hands and input them into an old-looking RobCo terminal. "Lepidus, is that a majority?"

"Yes sir," said the young man at the computer, as he fixed his glasses. "Healthcare Bill A18-2C will need further discussion as well as revision, though, before we can put it into law."

"Good, Lepidus," said the older man as he moved to a large seat in the middle of the Forum floor. "Now, it would seem we have a visitor. Sir Arthur, it is good, as always, to see you. Who may I ask is your guest who also bears the symbol of the Duke?"

"This is the Courier of the Mojave Express, vanquisher of the Legion and friend of the Duke," said Sir Arthur, glorifying the Courier's title a bit with each word. "He wishes to speak with the leaders of the Council as soon as possible, so as to foster a good relationship with the Duke's people."

"A friend of the Duke's is a friend of the Council," said the spokesperson in the middle of the room. "I believe our meeting is finished, so now we must adjourn. After that, Sir Arthur, you and your guest may take the floor for the leaders' ears."

As the elderly council members, ranging from 45 to 60 years of age, shuffled out of the Forum, only a group of three remained: the spokesperson, an elderly woman who seemed to be advanced in age, and Lepidus. Lepidus, who had been rather quiet up until this point, stood and spoke directly to the Courier. "We welcome you, Courier, to our city of Drybed and wish you the best of health for your future."

"Aye," said the elderly woman, "Health and wealth do not make a good man, however, Lepidus. Virtue and honor are what make a man. It is a lesson you will learn when you are as old as I."

"Yes, mother, your lessons are wise," said Lepidus, though the Courier could sense a string of sarcasm running through the words. "This, Courier, is my mother, as well as the Elder Mother for the City. She is one of the few people who are still alive from the founding of the city and as such has great honor bestowed upon her. I am the youngest member of the Council, but because of my lineage and the number of bills I have submitted to the Council that have been passed, I was put up for leadership when our last elected leader died."

"Yes, Othello, may he rest in peace," said the spokesperson. "And I am Cicero, the head Councilman of the People, elected by the masses."

The three leaders of the Council of Elders had introduced themselves, so the Courier decided to continue with his request. "Do you know of any place in your city I may receive food and lodging?"

"There is always the Arête Hotel in the Northern District, or the Knight's Bunkers just outside town," said Lepidus. "The Knight's Bunkers aren't as good in quality as the Arête Hotel, but you will be able to lodge there for free."

"Before we divulge you with any more information, Courier, you are here to foster good relations with the Duke's people. _We_ aren't the mass of the people, even if we do represent them. I suggest you talk around with leaders of different groups _within_ the city instead of reporting directly to us," Cicero said. "However, I do have a request from you. Rumors spread quickly within the Wasteland just as they did before the war, and I have heard much of your prowess in _extermination_."

"What do you want me to do, Councilman Cicero?"the Courier asked questioningly. Organized government normally didn't hire hit-men to do their dirty work, did they?

"There has been a group of anti-governmental 'activists' who have been causing havoc in our Northern District near the Arete Hotel. They are forbidding guests from entering the hotel and there have been many requests made by the people of our city to have the guards execute them. We don't have any hard evidence against their leader though, so they just keep sending more men whenever we arrest some," Cicero said. "I want you to deal with their leader, who calls himself Kasper, as soon as possible."

"Yes sir," said the Courier.


	5. Chapter 5: Cicero's Request

While Sir Arthur was not ideal companionship with his less-than-kind view of the Courier's habit, he was one hell of a shot when it came to hitting a target. Sir Arthur was one of the best Knights in Duke Orlins' Royal Corps, though he wasn't one to brag and kept his meager position of Lieutenant while those who were worse rose in rank. Additionally, he was very cleanly in his manners, looking down on the downtrodden Wastelanders who tended to overlook their personal hygiene.

"Courier," Sir Arthur said as they walked to the Arête Hotel to find out where Kasper was located, "Do you really think gangsters will reveal the location of their boss to two underlings to the Duke? They _hate_ the Duke. We need to find a change of clothing somewhere."

"I guess you're right," the Courier said, "Though we could always force it out of them." The Courier could swear he heard Sir Arthur say the word _barbarian_ under his breath, which only made the Courier laugh. They trekked into the market district to find a clothing shop and stumbled upon a shop that specialized in Wastelander clothes, meant for protection as opposed to comfort.

"Raider armor, Mercenary clothing, and combat armor, lightly used and recently repaired!" said the crier outside the shop, so the Courier went inside and grabbed a merc outfit, buying it for the 15 caps for which it was advertised while Sir Arthur didn't have to pay at all. The two of them holstered their weapons and looked at each other proudly.

"Let's go, Artie," the Courier said, leaving the shop and heading towards the Northern district which was easily visible due to the ten-story hotel.

When the two reached the hotel, they heard two people shouting jeers against the crowd. They fought their way to the front of the crowd and received a couple of insults from the gangsters before they were noticed entirely. "Who're you two? You're not one of them," one of them said, pointing a gun at the Courier.

"We just want to know where we can find Kasper," the Courier said. "We've got some personal business with him."

"Oh yeah? I'd think if you had 'personal business' with Kasper, you'd know where he was. Don't you think so too?" the gangster said, poking the barrel of his gun into the Courier's chest. "You look like a shady fella, and we don't see many shady fella in Drybed."

"That's because I'm not _from_ Drybed. I'm a Wastrel, unlike my friend Artie here," the Courier said, jabbing his thumb toward Arthur, who looked much to clean to be a Wastelander. "The reason I don't know where your precious little boss Kasper is I haven't been here in a couple of years so I'm not aware if the old house is still his base of operations."

"Nah, he moved to the old factory in the Outskirts," said the other gangster, who was obviously not the sharpest tool in the shed. The Courier pushed the gun away from his chest and walked away, being swallowed by the crowd of people so he wouldn't get shot.

"And that's some Wasteland diplomacy, Artie. I'd write it down if I were you," the Courier said over his shoulder. "So Kasper is using a factory in the Outskirts as his base of operations. We should go there if we want to get Kasper to stop."

"I hate to admit that you're right," Arthur said under his breath taking a mental note on the trickery the Courier deployed to employ it in the future.

As they trekked toward the Outskirts, Arthur and the Courier both thought to themselves about the troubles they had gotten themselves in, the Courier's list quite a bit longer than Arthur's. The Courier had been shot in the head, buried alive, dug up, revived, sent across a Wasteland, fought essentially alone in a war, and completely extinguished the darkness of the Legion in the Mojave. Stopping Kasper's gang from ravaging the nice people of Drybed was a minor achievement on the list, but the Courier was happy to help.

Arthur's achievements were not as grandiose as the Courier's yet helpful to his people all the same. Arthur had repelled the Legion from taking the town of Drybed with only his small group of four. It had made him practically legendary when he refused the promotion that came from such a great achievement. As a pillar of strength in the community of Drybed, he took a place among the great figures of the founders of the town as a piece of living legend.

"Artie, is that the warehouse the gangsters were talking about? It doesn't seem like much, but I guess if you're going to hold out anywhere, it should be a place with high-placed windows and well-locked doors," the Courier said from past experience. As a friend of the Brotherhood of Steel's Mojave Chapter, he had been in and out of the heavily-fortified bunker in Hidden Valley more times than he could count to buy and sell whatever he had on him. That was a true base of operations, though last the Courier had heard, the Brotherhood was opening up more, coming out into the open more often and conversing with its neighbors.

"Yes, I believe that is the warehouse where Kasper is located. A good position, if I do say so myself," Arthur said, looking up at the high windows. The two of them walked quietly up to the front doors of the warehouse where they were met by a group of five men who looked just as war-ravaged as the Courier.

"State your business with Kasper," the one in the middle said.

"We have come seeking employment as recruits," said Arthur.

"We don't accept hoity-toities like you, runt," said the gangster on the far right of the group. "Your friend looks like he could be one of us though. Looks sorta familiar though, don't he?"

"Be quiet," said the one in the middle. "I shall speak with Kasper. Let the two of them enter but do not let them roam freely. They do not need to see our affairs until Kasper gives them their approval."

The middle one disappeared inside the building, and the Courier could swear he heard an air lock closing behind him. "Well, I guess we should wait just inside the doors then, mates?" the Courier asked the four remaining gangsters.

"No, I think we should deal with these trespassers," one of the two in the middle said disdainfully. "His face is familiar for a reason, brothers. This is the man who brought our troops failure at the Hoover Dam."

"What do you mean, 'our troops?'" the Courier snarled maliciously at them. "Don't tell me your Legion dogs."

"We were," said the man disdainful of the Courier. "We were only slaves to Caesar though. Honestly, I think you did more good for the slave troops of Caesar's Legion by killing Caesar and the Legate than you think. Many of the old tribes are beginning anew, and those that only had few remaining either scattered or joined Octavius out of fear. I, personally, owe you my life. Why are you here, Courier?"

"I was supposed to stop Kasper's men from preventing guests from entering the Arête Hotel on request of Cicero the councilman," the Courier said.

"Well, I can't promise that I have any pull with Kasper, but I'm sure you'll be able to convince him one way or the other that it would be a good idea," the ex-Legionary said. "I wish you the best of luck and — my overseer approaches! I bid you Vale, good Courier."


End file.
